


Good, Good, Now We're Making Some Progress

by DaughterofElros



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterofElros/pseuds/DaughterofElros
Summary: They need to talk. But talking hasn't been working for them. So maybe they need to just...Not talk for awhile.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 20
Kudos: 141





	Good, Good, Now We're Making Some Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage" by Panic! at the Disco

It’s been a hell of a night. It’s so late it’s actually morning, they’re all hopped up on danger and adrenaline and narrowly avoiding a government-conspiracy-related catastrophe. They’d gotten the pods moved before the military could find them, and everyone is feeling drained from events they haven’t fully been able to process. There’s so much to be encouraged by, and so much more to think about, to worry about, but they’re each too exhausted to face any of it after everything the night has taken them through. They’d agreed to go their separate ways and then meet at the Crashdown in the morning, around nine. Alex had also agreed to give Guerin a ride home, because Isobel is already dropping off almost everyone else who was out in the desert tonight, and the junkyard is on the other side of town. And because he’s a glutton for punishment.

The sky is turning royal blue, a clear indication that dawn is coming, and a few birds have started to sing singular sporadic melodies. He hears them as he pulls to a stop in the junkyard. If he’s lucky, he can get back to his cabin and grab maybe three hours of sleep before he has to haul himself out of bed again to face all of this shit once more. That’s the smart thing to do. He needs the rest. He can survive without it- it’s not like he’s never gone into missions on too little sleep before- he learned to snatch sleep whenever it was available while he was deployed, and it’s a skill that serves him well. All the same, he’s almost tapped out the last of his reserves here, and the hits seem like they’re going to keep on coming.

But Guerin has been silent the entire twenty minute drive, and it’s not a quiet silence. It’s a silence that fraught and intimate, a million unsaid things and looks that are so _loud_ that they might as well be shouting at each other every time one of them peripherally catches the other’s eye. He’s hyper aware of Michael’s presence in the seat beside him, the way he fills the space. His jeans are stained, white t-shirt still pristine, his curls flop enticingly in his face. He’s clearly tense and possibly angry, or guilty, or other emotions he’s trying to hide. This isn’t the time to deal with any of it though.

Everything is too unstable around them, too fragile between them to risk talking about it when they can’t give it the space or time it needs. This thing between them is too big, too broken for that, and Alex needs to cling to the hope that there’s some way for it to start working some day. Tonight is not the night to start unboxing it though.

So he doesn’t say anything, and neither does Michael- not even now that the SUV is pulled to a halt in front of the airstream. Not even with the aching, haunted look that Michael gives him, or the way his newly-healed fingers twitch toward Alex, like he wants to touch him and has to hold himself back. Not even when Michael shakes his head and gets out of the vehicle, slams the door shut behind him.

It even takes a few seconds after that for Alex to decide _fuck it_ and shut off the ignition, opening the door and hauling himself out of the driver’s seat. Michael, who has only made it a couple of steps toward the front of the SUV turns and stares at him, walks back in toward him.

“What the hell?” he starts to say, but what we he’s going to follow that up with, Alex cuts him off.

“We’re not talking about this,” he says firmly. He looks intently into Michael’s eyes as he strides toward to him, hoping that he understands. He never looks away, even though every other step aches a little because he’s been wearing the prosthesis all day and now he’s walking on it again without letting himself stretch out the tightness in his muscles. “Every time we open our mouths to talk, we screw it up, Guerin. So I have a better idea about how we should communicate.” He’s right in front of Michael by then, can read his expression- trepidatious and shuttered, but with hope still bleeding through because he can’t contain it.

Alex kisses him then, hard and demanding and still holding back so much, because even what he’s letting himself feel is fucking electric. Michael meets him in the kiss just as hard, one hand in his hair, the other on his jaw and then trailing down to fist in his shirt, holding him there, not letting him pull away— not that Alex has any intention of pulling away. Kissing Michael Guerin is pretty much the only time anything makes sense anymore.

He pushes Michael back against the SUV, gets his leg between Michael’s and leans him back onto the hood. The metal is warm underneath them, and the night air is cold, the way the desert always gets before the sun comes back around. Michael keens into his mouth and kisses him back harder, filthier. Holy fuck, the things Michael Guerin can do with his tongue... he arches up into Alex too, pressing their hips together, hard-ons dragging against each other with delivious friction, his entire body part of the kiss; enthusiastic and desperate, and Alex is reminded that _wanting_ each other has never been their problem. Holding on is.

He’s on fire, but it’s a controlled burn. He knows what he wants— Michael’s hands on him, his own hands touching bare, golden skin, tangling in golden hair, the taste of Michael’s lips to never fade from his. He slips his hand up under that white t-shirt, feels those incredible abs flexing under his fingertips as Michael rolls his hips, friction and pressure so _satisfying_ against his dick that he forgets how to breathe for a moment or three. He honestly doesn’t care. He thinks he might need Michael Guerin more than he needs air.

Part of him considers stripping their clothes off and taking Michael right here- flipping him around so that his hands are pressed against the hood, using enough spit for lube, getting down in his knees in the dirt to open Guerin up with his tongue, slick him up enough that he can eventually get his cock inside him.

He’s not going to do it. It’s too cold out, actual lube exists just a handful of steps away, and his leg is killing him just looking at the uneven, rocky dust. But the thing that really brings him to his senses is that he wants Michael inside him even more than he wants to do the fucking, and he wants lube, and a bed, and to hold Michael in his arms while they shudder in ecstasy. He wants to touch him afterward, not hitch his pants up and climb back in the SUV.

He finally remembers to breathe, and might cry instead. Touching Michael after so long holding back, it’s as much like drowning as it was any time they’ve done this before. He’s a boy from the desert. He’s barely learned to swim. And Michael’s the fucking ocean- and a tempest-tossed one at that. Touching Michael Guerin is like being capsized and drowning in the waves, a maelstrom of emotion, and he never wants to let go. He wants to learn to breathe the water instead, to never walk away.

Michael’s hands haul him in, try to pull them together so closely that they merge into one single being. Michael’s so overwhelmed, just like Alex is, that he sobs into the kiss. His breath hitches at the same time his hips do. His hands are all over Alex’s body, desperate and reverent.

Michael can play his body like he used to play guitar. Alex wants to let him.

He definitely needs to be naked with this man more than he needs sleep. He knows where Michael’s bed is, just a few steps away, behind a metal door. He wants to be in that bed again, and since he’s all about doing things for himself these days and not just following orders from higher up the chain of command, he decides to make it happen here too.

He hauls Michael up off the hood, his fingers clenched desperately in Michael’s t-shirt, not allowing the movement to put any space between them. He feels Michael along every inch of his body, and that’s exactly the way he wants it. He walks them backward toward the airstream. It’s more challenging than walking normally, because he’s less practiced at stepping back on his leg and he’s balancing another person’s momentum instead of just his own. It takes more effort to not slip on loose rocks, but in the back of everything, he’s confident that if he stumbles, Michael will catch him. If nothing else, Michael has always wanted to see him safe.

They’ve never been able to manage happy, but they’ve always had an instinct protect each other.

That the airstream is locked becomes apparent when he gropes behind himself unsuccessfully for the door handle, which is fine because it means that Alex has the chance to brace himself against the metal hull of it, taking some pressure off of his leg. He works his hand into Michael’s front pocket to fish out the keys, drinks down Michael’s moan like a shot of vodka when his fingers brush against Michael’s cock through the lining of his pocket. The sound is crisp and clear and refreshing in the chill of the night, with the coldness of the air settling against his skin anywhere they aren’t touching, seeping into his back from the metal expanse of the trailer, cutting through the thin material of his shirt.

He slips the keys into Michael’s hands, their fingers twining together in the transfer. Practically, he hands the keys over because he trusts Michael can find the right key quicker. The real reason is that he needs Michael to be the one to invite him in this time, to be the one to open the literal door after closing so many metaphorical ones.

Michael does.

It takes so much less time that it would have taken Alex that he suspects Michael may have gotten a boost from his powers. He’s not about to complain. Actually, he’s more than a little turned on at the thought of Michael wanting to get him in bed and leveraging his extraterrestrial abilities to get them there quicker without taking his hands off of him. Alex certainly has no intention of letting go. Michael has slipped away too many times, been _taken_ from him too many times for him to want to risk a second without Michael’s hands or lips on him.

Inside the trailer, it’s a familiar world- small, and cramped, but entirely Michael’s home, and he defaults to following Michael’s lead here. Michael doesn’t look away the entire time he draws Alex up the steps, hand smooth and gentle in his. Everything slows down, but the intensity doesn’t diminish. If anything, it deepens. He leans past him to close the door, kisses him slowly once the door is locked, each brush of their lips stretching like taffy. It’s still intense, still desperate, just caged by restraint now. Michael’s hands are trembling.

He follows Alex’s directions and doesn’t speak though- not even when he draws back and lets his hands hover over the buttons on Alex’s shirt, asking permission with a tilted head and uplifted eyebrows. Alex nods his consent. His eyes say it louder, practically a plea. The only sound is that of their breath— small exhalations and sharp inhalations, the rustle of cloth and the sounds they make for each other that they drink in like wine.

Michael shucks off his shirt first, which makes Alex smile. Every time they’ve been together— every time— Michael takes his own shirt off before Alex loses anything more than his jacket. One day, Alex is going to be the one to undress Michael instead. Tonight though, he’s more than satisfied with the slopes and curves of Guerin’s bare torso. He _needs_ to reach out and touch, and when he does, his hands are trembling too. His heart is pounding, but he’s not alone— he can feel his lover’s rapid heartbeat under his fingertips— supple skin, coarse chest hair and that rapid beat.

That’s what he an Guerin are, after all— lovers. They’ve never been boyfriends, barely even been friends. They’d been classmates and then they’d been lovers, and that connection—so deep and so tenuous— has carried them through to this point. These last few weeks, when he hasn’t known if they’re anything anymore, even though Michael is everything to him… he hasn’t been sure he’s going to survive it.

But this— this still works. They still have this— not just sex, but intimacy like he’s never felt with anyone else, even for a second. Michael Guerin’s knuckles grazing his sternum while he unbuttons his shirt destroys him more in all the best ways than most orgasms he’s had with other people. Probably because he hasn’t been in love with any of the other people he’s been with. He’s felt things, he’s tried to love other people, he’s even fooled himself for a few months at a time over the last decade, but it was candle flames, and the heat that exists— has always existed— between him and Guerin is molten lava. He’s not entirely certain that’s a good thing. He doesn’t want anything else though.

Michael unbuttons each of the buttons on Alex’s shirt with care, thumbs caressing each new inch of skin he bares before moving on to the next button. Once he’s unfastened them all, he puts his hands on Alex’s shoulders and slides both the shirt and Alex’s jacket off, hands gliding down Alex’s arms until the clothing is gone, tossed onto a counter top, and their fingers tangle together just a second before their lips meet again. Every nerve ending Alex possesses sings. Kissing Michael Guerin has always been a full-body experience— not just because of the way their bodies can come together, but because of the way a simple touch has the power to light up every neuron and nerve-ending. He can lose himself just as much in the sensation of Michael’s thumb dragging across his lips as he can drown in the sensation of kissing this man, or be set alight by the way it feels to be inside each other.

Michael Guerin made him fly long before he ever got in a plane. The irony is that he’s the only person who can bring him back down to earth when he feels like he’s spiraling.

Alex can’t keep track of how long they kiss, all of the ways they touch each other before he’s urged down to the bed and Michael is getting to his knees in front of him, helping him pull of his left boot. A few seconds later, Michael’s incredible hands are at the waistband of his jeans, are unzipping him and pulling the jeans down, helping him out of them until Alex is sitting there in only his boxer briefs and his leg.

“Okay to take it off?” Michael asks, breaking the silence as he looks at Alex. “For me to do it, I mean?”

“I…yeah.” Alex says, licking his lips nervously. “I just have to turn it off.” Michael regards him with a furrowed brow and puzzled expression.

“It’s…a different leg since the last time we…It’s better for things like walking, running…” This tripping over his own tongue is exactly the reason he’d suggested not talking in the first place. He has to talk about this though, for purely practical reasons. He reaches down to click off the pump by feel. “It uses vacuum pressure to…stay on, and there’s an app for it on my phone so I can adjust it.” He can hear the faint hiss of the vacuum pressure releasing, feels his cheeks flushing self-consciously. But Michael just runs his hands up over his knees, continues up along Alex’s thighs as the vacuum hisses.

“Cool.” Michael looks genuinely impressed. “Can I…” Michael puts his hands on the sleeve, sliding up to skim along the top of his thigh where the sleeve meets his skin. Alex barely even dares to breathe.

“Yeah. Just, um… kind of roll it down?” No one else outside of medical professionals and physical therapists has taken his leg off before, and this is…new. He thinks he likes it. He’s terrified he’ll stop liking it, and infinitely more terrified that Michael will.

“Like this?” Michael asks, rolling the silicone down smoothly and damn if he doesn’t have the hang of it on the first try.

“Yeah,” Alex tells him. He eases his leg out of the socket, and Michael sets the prosthesis off to the side, still within reach from the end of the bed, without having to ask. Then his hands are back on Alex’s leg, rolling the sock down as well, cool air and warm fingertips brushing against Alex’s skin. He presses a kiss to the inside of first one knee, then the other, curls tickling where they brush his body.

“Yeah,” Alex says again, his voice a reverent whisper. He slides his fingers into Michael’s hair, loving how soft his curls still are. He could probably spend hours just touching Michael’s hair. He’s fantasized about running his hands through it in the sunlight, touching him in public. Touching him at all.

Michael goes up higher on his knees so he can lean down and run his lips along Alex’s cock, mouthing at his decidedly-not-flagging erection through his boxer briefs. He pays particular attention to the head of Alex’s cock, drawing it into his mouth and sucking at the fabric that covers it, laving at it with his tongue until the fabric is slick and slides against the skin. It’s so much, and not remotely enough. He tugs Michael’s hair, draws him up so their mouths are even, and kisses him.

“Naked. Please.” He begs. Michael smiles against his lips, changing the shape of their kiss.

“Me, or you?” he asks.

“Yes.” Alex grinds out.

“Okay.” He gives the arrogant, devil-may-care, grin that Alex can’t help but fall for every time and stands, toeing off his boots and unbuttoning his belt buckle. Alex gets his own underwear off while Michael is pulling off his jeans. When Michael leans over him again to kiss him- no barriers between them anymore- at least not physical ones- and braces his arms above him to press him further back into the bed, Alex goes willingly. Michael’s leg is between his thighs and he can rut against it, loving the sensation of rough, curly hair against his cock, tickling against his balls. Jesus Christ, he’s totally fucking gone if he’s waxing rhapsodic about Michael Guerin’s leg hair.

Michael is solid and strong over him, kissing him deep and pressing him down into the thin mattress. His cock fits along the line of Alex’s hip and the first couple of times he rocks their bodies together, it’s just on the alright side of too much friction. But the precome leaking from Michael’s very impressive cock eases the way and soon Alex’s skin is slick with it. He loves the feeling, and if he didn’t want Michael inside him yet tonight, he’d urge him to get off that way, painting the proof of his pleasure on Alex’s body.

They’re touching each other everywhere, they can’t seem to stop. Hands in hair and over skin, tracing along backs and limbs and each other’s faces. Michael grabs his leg behind the knee and holds his leg up to get a better angle as they move together, even as he traces Alex’s thumb with his lips and draws it into his mouth.

“Want you inside me,” Alex whispers to him, and Michael goes still, excitement and surprise playing across his features.

“Like… my fingers, or like…”

“All of you,” Alex tells him.

“I don’t know if _all_ of me will fit,” He smirks, sweeping his hand in expansive gesture that includes his entire body, never able to resist the urge to be contrary.

“You’ll fit,” Alex promises, and realizes he isn’t just talking about sex. Maybe he isn’t talking about sex at all. There’s room for Michael Guerin in his life. Despite everything they have to contend with, everything they face— government conspiracies and alien DNA, past trauma and current and future hardship and heartbreak, he wants Michael Guerin in his life. He’s loved him for more than ten years now— he’ll make space if space doesn’t already exist.

Michael doesn’t say anything, but the way he kisses Alex then speaks volumes about love and fear and loss.

He gets up eventually to get lube and a condom, comes back to Alex’s arms. He’s confident and gentle as he works Alex open, until he has three fingers inside him and a hand on his cock. They lock eyes when he starts to press into Alex and neither one of them look away until he’s fully sheathed inside. It’s one of the most erotic moments of his life. And then Michael kisses him and starts to move, and the world practically explodes in color, building overwhelmingly until he falls apart, the world shattering and the pieces coming back together while Michael shudders above him, lost in his own ecstasy.

Michael eases out of him a moment later and collapses beside him, his hand finding Alex’s and tangling their fingers together.

“Wow.” Michael says. Alex has to agree. He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of Michael’s breath slowing down again.

The next thing he knows, there’s a bolt of sunlight shining rudely in his eyes and he’s blinking awake, Michael’s face hovering over his.

“Hey.” He says, smile soft as he presses a kiss to Alex’s shoulder. Damn if Michael isn’t the softest, sweetest person in bed in the mornings, at least in Alex’s admittedly limited experience with that scenario. “It’s about ten minutes until the alarm goes off.”

Alex can’t help but reach for him, running his hands over sleep-warmed skin.

“I don’t want to stop touching you like this,” Alex confesses, nuzzling into Michael’s shoulder. He blinks tiredly. They’ve had so little sleep that what they had was more aptly termed a nap than actual rest, but given the choice between ten more minutes of sleep and ten minutes of touching like this, it’s not even a contest.

“So don’t.” Michael murmurs, breath ghosting over the shell of Alex’s ear, hand groping his ass under the sheet, pulling Alex toward him just the slightest bit. “Spend the next nine minutes right here.”

For four of those minutes, they trade touches and sender, shivering caresses, mindful that there’s not enough time for more than that. Alex loves every second of it- not just the way that Michael touches him, so sure and confident and still so gentle- but the way his eyes go half-lidded with pleasure, the way his lips part, the way his breath hitches when Alex glides his thumb across his nipples or scratches his blunt nails teasingly across his stomach. Michael is hard, and naked, and fucking beautiful, so Alex can’t resist touching him. He strokes Michael’s cock lightly, shifting his attention between where he’s touching and Michael’s face to watch his reactions. Michael spreads his legs, gives him more access, a better view of what he’s doing. It’s a beautiful thing to see him sprawled open and inviting like this. Michael’s was the first cock apart from his own that he ever touched, the first cock he’d ever put his mouth on. Part of him wants to scoot down the bed and go down on Michael right now, show him how much more he’s learned in the last decade since that first fumbling, eager blowjob. He wants more time for that, though, wants to savor Michael’s reactions, the taste of him.

He lets his hand move lower, trailing over Michael’s balls, cupping them lightly and grinning when Michael’s cock twitches noticeably in reaction, gets the same reaction when his fingertips brush Michael’s perineum, this time with the addition of an indrawn breath and Michael’s hand tightening involuntarily on his shoulder.

Alex _wants_ this— wants to see Michael moan and writhe and come apart again under his hands, wants to watch his face in the sunlight as he comes. Fuck, he’s fully hard now and wants to get off himself.

“Fuck it,” He decides aloud, swinging his leg over Michael’s hips and pinning him to the mattress, hearing the table that folds down to make this bed groan under him. “We can be late.”

“Hell yes,” Michael agrees, hands coming to settle on Alex’s hips, holding him steady as Alex takes both of them in his hand. “Fuck yeah. I like the way you think, Manes.”

“You’re not always the only genius around,” Alex grins, pumping his hand and being rewarded with the slow roll of Michael’s hips, arching up into him carefully, never running the risk of unseating him.

The lube from last night is within easy reach, so Alex uses a little to ease the way as he works them both, the slick sounds of his motions mingling with the sound of their aroused breathing to fill the tiny trailer. He holds himself back until Michael comes, hips lifting off the bed and carrying him with, forcing him to clamp his thighs down and brace his other hand against the wall as goes along for the ride, which is the end of his control.

They’re both panting, splattered with cum, and Alex is leaning down to press a kiss to Michael’s lips, trying not to smear the mess on their bellies but secretly not caring if he does when the alarm goes off. They both burst out laughing as Michael fumbles it to silent and leans up to pull Alex down for a deep, satiated kiss.

“We’re going to need showers,” Alex observes

“Yep,” Michael agrees, brushing Alex’s hair behind his ear with the tenderness he displays so easily when they’re alone. “But no can do. Shower is broken.” He reaches for his discarded t-shirt and uses it to carefully wipe away the worst of the mess from first Alex and them himself, balling it up and throwing it in a corner.

“Can’t you fix, like…anything that’s mechanical or electrical or plumbing related? Maria and Liz are always talking about that.” Alex regrets how critical that sounds as soon as the words leave his mouth. To his relief, Guerin’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t get that wounded look that makes it feels like pins are being pushed into Alex’s heart. He swings his legs forward, sitting up and fighting the urge to drag the sheets around him to hide his leg.

“Parts are on backorder.” Michael shrugs, propping his arm on his bent knee and brushing his knuckles idly on the back of Alex’s arm. “In the meantime, I’ve got baby wipes.” He gets up, takes the few steps to the bathroom (giving Alex a truly mouth-watering view of his ass) and comes back a second later with a pack of baby wipes that he snags a few from before handing them to Alex.

He turns back into the tiny bathroom to clean up, giving them each the illusion of privacy.

“Wait…so you don’t have a way to shower?” Guerin definitely does _not_ smell like a man who hasn’t bathed in days, or even one whose gone through half a pack of baby wipes in a effort to stay clean.

“I’ve been showering at Isobel’s,” he says, voice slightly muffled from behind the half wall. “Been going over there at least once a day ever since Noah. And since Max.” He sighs. “She’s doing okay, but…it helps her out to think she’s helping me. If I’m there to grab a shower, she makes me coffee. And if she makes me coffee, she drinks some too. And if I bang around her kitchen and make toast with peanut butter and bananas, she’ll eat some of that because I’m eating and it’s there.”

“That’s…really good of you to do,” Alex says. He imagines what it would have been like to have had someone who would come to the cabin when he first got back here and was supposed to be recovering, someone who would be there, and help, and not treat him like he was broken, but also not leave him abandoned on the days he kind of was. He hadn’t had anyone like that. Certainly not his dad. Not his brothers. And he’d been fine, but… someone caring would have been nice. One of his brothers caring about him the way Michael cares about Isobel would have been…nice.

He refuses to think about what it would be like to have Michael in his life like that. They still can’t talk effectively about what they want five minutes from now— its definitely not helpful for him to go around creating an alternate timeline of Florence Nightengale fantasies in his head. He scoots to the end of the bed and grabs his boxers. Once he gets those on, he starts putting on his leg.

“Not good,” Michael disagrees. “Just…doing what I can. Which isn’t much. Isn’t enough.”

He emerges back into the main part of the trailer with a new pair of jeans on a few minutes later, a plaid shirt with pearlescent snap buttons dangling from his hand. He looks so good that the only thing Alex can think about for an all too obvious second, standing there with his own pants half zipped, is how much he wants to put his mouth on all of that golden skin, let the heat of Michael’s body sink into his own.

“You need some deodorant?” Michael asks.

“I…uh…yeah. Guess I do.” He definitely needs deodorant, especially if he’s not going to be getting a shower.

The stick Michael tosses him is clearly his own— half gone, and a scent that he recognizes so viscerally that he has to stop himself from putting it right up to his nose and taking a deep whiff of it just because it smells like Michael. Gliding it on his skin feels like he’s marking himself with Michael’s scent, and the feeling of that doesn’t get any less intense when he hands it back and watches Michael swipe it on himself. He’s going to end up distracted by this all day, and instead of dreading it, he’s almost pleased.

“You need coffee or anything?” Michael asks, shrugging into his shirt “I figure we’ll get better coffee at the Crashdown, and all I have out here is some instant crap, but if you need it to drive…”

Alex shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Cool. Um. Speaking of driving…” Alex can read his sudden shiftiness. He gets it. Michael doesn’t want to have people suspect anything, these few hours together were an interlude, not a beginning, not a promise of anything. They’ll drive separately to the diner, and Alex will agree to whatever order Michael wants to arrive in.

“You wanna share a ride?”

Huh. Those are not the words he expected to hear come out of Michael’s mouth.

“I- Yes. Are you sure?” he has to ask.

“No.” Michael’s answer is short and abrupt and sharply twists a knife between Alex’s ribs. And then he keeps going. “But I want to be. There’s so much shit going on, and I don’t know what I want, and I can’t make any promises, which I know is a shit thing to say after we…” he gestures expansively to the bed.

“My head is a mess, my feelings are all over the place, I’m in no fucking place to have any kind of relationship, and it’s been a full fucking decade since I even considered committing to one person instead of taking my moments with whoever will have me, as often as we want it.” He runs his hand nervously through his hair, mussing it until it somehow looks even more attractive.

“I’m pretty sure that that’s not the kind of thing you want, but I don’t know that I have the other type of thing in me. And honestly, it fucking terrifies me, and I feel like I’m being torn apart every time we’re together. But I want to be that kind of person— the one who’s sure, and who can do this right, who can do this at all.” He takes a deep breath. “I want to be the guy who can drive to meet his friends at a diner in the same car with the guy he just spent the night with, the guy who he…who he…loves...” His voice shakes on the word, “… and not freak out, or run away, or do something to fuck it up. But Alex…” He looks so lost, so gutted, “I don’t think I’m that guy. Like… forget the other stuff, I’m not even _sure_ about the car. And I’m so sorry for that.”

Alex is wrong— the pain in his ribs from hearing the ‘No’ is nothing compared to the pain of hearing how much Michael Guerin wants to consider saying yes. He crosses the distance between them in three awkward steps, catches Michael’s hand and brings it to his lips.

“Don’t be sorry,” He murmurs, “I’m so incredibly fucked up too. I don’t know how to make this go right. I’m the one who wanted to talk a few weeks ago, and then insisted we not talk at all last night.” He snorts bitterly. “I don’t know how to be in a relationship either. I’ve never really even tried. And we definitely don’t have the normal trajectory. So let’s not do that. Let’s not try to force ourselves to be normal.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t really know.” Alex shakes his head. “Maybe instead of committing to a relationship, or even each other, we commit to… the idea of making space to try? Not that we’ll never mess up, never hurt each other, never feel conflicted about what we want… just that we don’t run from it when we do? We stop trying to figure out if we should be friends, or lovers, or if we should be dating and just… do what feels like it’s the right fit for us.” Michael nods subtly at everything he says.

“Easier said than done. But I think…we could try that? I already know some ways we fit together _really_ well,” Michael grins suggestively. Alex blushes.

“Yeah. It feels right when we fit together that way too,” he returns. “Really right.” Michael’s eyesbrows shoot up in delight. He pulls Alex closer, kisses him deeply. Alex goes willingly, letting himself melt into the warm planes of Michael’s body, letting himself be kissed until he’s dizzy with it.

“So you’re saying,” Michael says, breath whispering along Alex’s jaw, “That we try doing this… And also drive to the Crashdown together…And try to defeat massive genocidal government conspiracies spearheaded by your father…and figure out the rest as it comes up?”

“Yeah.”

Michael pulls back a little, brow furrowing.

“I kissed Maria.”

“You slept with Maria.”

“Yeah.” Michael bites his lip. “Plenty of other people too.”

“And you’re not sure you want to stop,” Alex surmises.

“I’m not sure of anything, anymore. Who I am, what I want. What I’m capable of.”

“You’re Michael Guerin,” Alex tells him resolutely. “You’re fiercely protective of people you care about, you’re good with your brain, good with your hands, you do the right thing even if the world is trying to to you wrong. You think so little of yourself that it manages to come out as arrogant, and the people who love you see through that bullshit. You are who your are because that’s who you are and who your experiences have shaped you to be— who you are isn’t defined by wherever your life started from out in the stars… it’s defined by you. Not your… your alien DNA or whatever, but who you’ve decided to be in the face of every shitty thing you’ve ever dealt with. We don’t have to figure out everything in this moment. We don’t have to figure out anything. This is enough right now. _You_ are enough. And whenever you think there’s something I need, or that you do, we’ll figure it out. All I need is the promise that we’re each going to try.”

“I want to try,” Michael vows. “I just don’t know if I can promise much of anything.”

“I don’t need promises, Guerin.” Alex rubs his hand along Michael’s stubbled jaw, curls his fingers into Michael’s hair. “I just need _you_. Don’t need you to be perfect, or anything else. Just _be_ , and let me matter to you, and figure it out as the hits come.”

Michael’s hands clench on his wrist, brings his lips to whisper across the thin skin there, making delicious shivers spark through his body.

“You matter, Manes. You matter more than almost anyone else in my entire world.” He fixes him with an intense look. “You know when I’m lying.”

“You’re not lying now.” Alex is sure of that. “But you tend to disappear when the truth feels big. Run away.” He looks deep into Michael’s eyes. “I get it. I do it too. But this time, I’m staying right here.”

“I’m not running away today,” Michael promises. “We’re going to go the Crashdown, we’re going to meet up with the others and figure out how to handle all the shit that’s hitting the fan, and we’re going to drive there together. And I’m going to be okay.”

“And if you’re not, you’re going to tell me instead of bolting?” Alex prompts.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m going to tell you if it’s not okay.”

“Good.” Alex kisses him then, both of them drinking each other in until they have to stop or risk not making it out of the airstream.

“Oh.” Alex says, pulling on his jacket and zipping it up over yesterday’s shirt. “One more thing. We kind of have to take my car, because I didn’t charge my leg last night, and I don’t have a way to charge it in your truck.”

Michael opens the door of the airstream and ducks out into the sunshine.

“Fine.” He squints back at Alex, raising a hand to shield his eyes in the morning sun. “But you have to promise that I get you in my baby soon. Maybe drive out to the desert one night with the guitars, sit there and watch the stars awhile.” He grins, quick and wicked. “I’ve been wanting to have you in the bed of that truck since Senior Year.”

“Deal!” Alex laughs, walking to the car while Michael closes the door to the airstream and locks it behind him. “I think I’ve still got some of my necklaces I used to wear back in my goth high school days, if you really want to live out that fantasy.” He’s flattered by how interested Michael looks at that suggestion.

No one gives them any grief for being ten minutes late to the Crashdown, or even seems to note that they arrived together. Back in the restaurant office, out of sight of prying eyes, Liz pours them each a cup of coffee, Isobel passes the creamer, Maria is hoarding the sugar, and Rosa- back in the swing of things after whatever cockamamie story Isobel had gotten people to believe about medical test studies for coma patients and scientific research and something about donating bodies to science— gives them each a plate to dig into the bacon, toast, scrambled eggs, and salsa that they’ve set up on Arturo’s desk.

They squeeze into chairs around the desk together, and its doesn’t even seem unusual to people that his right knee is pressed against Michael’s, because Kyle’s knee is pressed against his right leg. And of course, if he has to shift a little closer to Guerin so that Kyle’s knee isn’t getting bruised from knocking into his prosthesis, well that’s only considerate, isn’t it?

Despite how dire the circumstances they’re facing are, there’s something that feels right about being here with this group of people. It’s not just that they’re united in common goals, though that’s part of it. A huge part of it is the fact that even though he grew up in a house that seemed respectable, grew up with four brothers and parents that were considered upstanding pillars of the community… it was a rotted out facade. This unexpected hodgepdoge of people, this amalgamation of friends is more of a family than _ever_ existed between the walls of the Manes house. He’s terrified half the time, and angry too, but it’s because the idea of losing any of these people— the reality of them losing Max in the first place— hurts more than it ever hurt to imagine losing the people that he grew up under the thumb of. It feels _right_ to be around them, no matter how bad the things they’re facing get.

And, if he’s being honest with himself, it’s because twenty-five minutes ago, right after Michael had closed the door of the airstream, He’d turned, walked up to Alex, put his incredible hands on either side of his jaw, and held him steady as he kissed him in the sunlight. Nothing feels settled, or guaranteed, or like their problems are solved. But it turns out that kissing Michael Guerin in the sunlight is every bit as incredible as he has ever imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me about Malex on tumblr: https://daughterofelros.tumblr.com/


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